


gifts of magic

by green_piggy



Series: eirichel week 2019 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, kinda a character study lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:59:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/pseuds/green_piggy
Summary: As the war intensifies, so too does the strain on all of their army’s healers. L’Arachel attempts to take most of the weight herself; Eirika won’t allow her to suffer alone, but how much can she help, if the only magic she knows is the kind that causes so much suffering?





	gifts of magic

**Author's Note:**

> written for 'gift' for day 3!
> 
> nothing much to say here - hope you enjoy!

It would have been impossible to ignore the waning faces of their few healers, the tremble in their fingers as staff after staff was used up and tossed aside. Eirika’s heart ached with an intensity no magic could heal, seeing any members of her army overwork themselves to the bone.

During one of their quieter evenings, when the worst injury had been their eardrums after another one of Neimi’s crying fits, Eirika sought L’Arachel out.

“Hmm?” L’Arachel had been attending to their vulneraries, huddled amongst empty bottles in one of the healing tents. She glanced up at Eirika’s approach, her tired eyes somehow mustering enough energy to still wrinkle into a smile. “Is something amiss?”

“No, not at all.” Eirika shook her head. “I… I came to ask you a favour, but you’re clearly busy.”

“Hmm…” L’Arachel tapped her finger on her chin. “I should be free after dinner? Whatever you need, I shall do my best to fulfil!”

Eirika gave her a small smile. “Thank you, L’Arachel. Can I…” She gestured at the ground, her foot accidentally scuffing an half-empty bottle. “Can I help with anything?” she asked, voice awkward.

“Careful, careful!” L’Arachel chided, her voice almost musical as she swiped the bottle Eirika had brushed against. She clutched it against her chest with an audible sigh of relief. “Sorry… supplies are just terribly low at the moment. It’s absolutely not your fault!” she said when Eirika opened her mouth. “This is what war does to us all.” She thrust a finger in the air. “And to answer your question!” Her hand dropped, face shadowing. “There isn’t. But thank you for asking, dear Eirika.”

“You’re, ah, very welcome. Are you sure?”

“Quite positive.” L’Arachel made a shooing motion with her hand. “Now, begone! You’re a commander, aren’t you? Go do some commanding.”

Only L’Arachel was in the tent, so Eirika allowed herself to roll her eyes with a little grin. “Are you  _ allowed  _ to boss around a commander, hmm?”

“If said commander is my dear partner, I do believe I can.” There was a twinkle in L’Arachel’s eyes, a flush of joy in her cheeks that had been sorely missed for far too long. “Now, go! I’ve just had onions, and I believe you’d rather not smell them when I attempt to kiss you.”

Eirika wrinkled her nose. “You know  _ just  _ the right thing to say, don’t you? I still don’t know how you can bear to snack on them.” She hesitated at the tent flap. “Be well, L’Arachel. I’ll see you after dinner - and you better  _ be  _ there. You’ve skipped frequently as of late.”

“I don’t  _ mean  _ to.” L’Arachel pouted. “I will be there. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Eirika said with a smile, and left L’Arachel to her work.

True to her word, L’Arachel had been at dinner. It was quite some time after before Eirika was freed of her duties, but as soon as she was, she went to the healer’s tent.

As before, only L’Arachel was inside. She was sitting on the bed, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she inspected a battered healing staff.

“L’Arachel?”

“Ah!” She looked up with a dazzling smile. “Just as expected!” She shuffled over on the bed and eagerly patted the spot next to her. “Do sit down. I can prepare us some tea if you’d like.”

“...If you’re certain.”

“But of course!” L’Arachel danced up to Eirika, giving her cheek a gentle smooch that left Eirika bright red as she skipped towards the nearby table. Eirika sat down on the bed, being careful not to sit on any dried patches of blood or dirt - they hadn’t had time to properly scrub down bedding or clothing. Eirika’s skirt, at this point, was taking on a rather impressive tinge of filth, coated in blood and mud and other substances she’d rather not think about. It didn’t matter where she sat, not really, but she didn’t want any more than absolutely necessary.

She picked up the staff L’Arachel had been looking at, turning it in her hands. No doubt that L’Arachel could tell exactly what kind of magic was embedded within it, what wood the staff was made from and how effective it was at whacking (not very, probably), but to Eirika, it was just a staff. Every unique staff in Magvel could have been laid out in front of her, and they would have all looked the same to her.

The bed creaked.

“You’ve taken an interest in that,” L’Arachel said, a statement rather than a question. One cup and saucer was wobbling precariously on her knee; the other, grasped in her hand.

“Thank you.” Eirika put down the staff in the tiny gap between them and took her cup from L’Arachel. No milk or sugar, just how she liked it - not that they  _ could  _ afford such luxuries, not with supplies running as low as they were right now. All they could hope for was that the next shop would take some mercy on them.

Looking smug with herself, L’Arachel took a long sip of her own tea - more sugar than liquid, Eirika was sure - before leaning over and setting the cup down on the ground. Her hair was falling out of her bun, messy strands of green surrounding her pale cheeks. It only made the bags under her eyes more noticeable than usual.

Eirika’s heart ached again.

“You said you wanted something?” L’Arachel asked, her hands in her lap. “May I ask what?”

“It…” It seemed a bit ridiculous, now, but Eirika wasn’t someone who went back on her word. She swallowed, fingers curling around the staff. “I was wondering… would it be at all possible for someone like me to learn the basics of healing magic?”

“Oh?” L’Arachel blinked owlish eyes at her. “What’s brought this on?”

“You, and the other healers… you’re stretched so terribly thin at the moment. I know you’re only here alone because you’ve ordered the rest of them to relax, in your own way.”

“Ah…” A weak smile. “Am I that transparent?”

“Only to me.”

L’Arachel made a quiet scoff. “Healing magic… hmm.”

“I understand if you can’t. I know the vast majority of people are unable to wield it, and we have precious few staves at the moment. Don’t waste them on feeble attempts to teach me how to cure a tiny cut.”

“Oh, you misunderstand.” L’Arachel crossed her arms, frowning slightly. “How best to explain this..?”

“Explain what?”

“Staves do become unusable  _ on the battlefield  _ after some time, that is true.” L'Arachel's fingers rested on the dull head of the staff. “But for trained healers - such as myself, of course - it's quite simple to imbue a tiny amount of magic back into it.” She hummed. “Not enough for stitching together a stump and its missing arm, but adequate to heal a few scratches.”

“Oh?”

“I  _ could  _ do that, and teach it to you.” L’Arachel smiled. “If you want. It won’t use up any of our supplies, and, truth be told,  _ you  _ look as though you need a break as much as I do.”

Eirika opened her mouth to object, but she knew that L'Arachel was speaking the truth. Instead, she just let out a quiet sigh. “...I suppose so.”

L’Arachel clucked her tongue with a soft hum. “Eirika, by chance, do you know if there  _ is  _ any kind of magic you can wield?”

She knew the answer, of course, tucked away in childhood memories of her poking through spellbooks forbidden to her eyes, when no one else had been looking. When her brother and Lyon had been absorbed with each other, she would often flick through Lyon’s countless tomes. And she’d never admitted it - barely to herself, and certainly not to anyone else - but the spells stored within came to her with an ease that was almost frightening. Oh, she was always careful to snuff out the darkness dancing on her fingertips at the first sound of footsteps approaching her hiding spot, and she made certain to slide back every tome exactly as it had been, but she had an aptitude for it that few, even among mages, had.

Dark magic had a terrible reputation. It could tempt even the strongest of mages into throwing themselves into its abyss, and never to return.

But it was the only kind of magic she’d ever had any skill with. Spells of fire snuffed out before they could fully alight. Any attempts at wind left her clothing and hair as unruffled as they’d been prior. Her thunder crackled and popped on her fingertips before she could do anything with them.

Darkness came to her as easy as breathing. She’d always been too terrified to tell anyone else. Perhaps, if she had been raised in Grado, she could have grown to master it - but the practice of dark magic was forbidden in Renais, and had been since before her grandparents were born.

But...

What did that say about her?

L’Arachel was looking at her with such curious eyes, though, and Eirika felt something unravel in her as she gazed back.

“Dark magic,” she blurted out, before she could return. “I - I have a skill for dark magic.”

The self-proclaimed ‘Princess of Light’ did not flinch at her words, or scowl, or fret, or anything like that.

She just smiled, knowingly, as if Eirika had already told her this, and took Eirika’s hand in her own.

“I figured,” she said. “So you shall be able to heal, most likely.”

Eirika drew her hand away. “With  _ dark  _ magic, though?”

“Yes, of course! Magic is magic, no matter how many foul adjectives people wish to sling in front of it.” L’Arachel hummed. “Perhaps dark magic  _ is  _ more likely to be misused than any other magic. It may not be for me, personally - but that doesn’t mean it can’t  _ ever  _ be used for good.”

“I know that dark magic isn't necessarily evil. I  _ know  _ this.” Eirika shook her head. “But… it still stings, somewhat, that it is the only kind of magic I can control. What… does that say about me? As a person?”

“It says absolutely  _ nothing,  _ that's all,” L'Arachel said with determination. “The spirits don't know your personality from birth and determine what magic - if any - you can wield. That's just nonsensical.”

“...I suppose so.”

“Now, don't frown like that.” L'Arachel prodded at Eirika's cheek, leaning away with a cheeky grin when a smile was coaxed from Eirika's lips. “We  _ all  _ know I'm right. I always am!”

The bed creaked with the tip-tap of L'Arachel's boots against its frame. “Furthermore, most wielders of magic - regardless of what kind - can, with enough time and training, be able to learn healing. Even if only basic.”

Eirika turned to her. “So I could..?”

“Almost certainly, yes!” L'Arachel hummed. “Hmm… what month are we in?”

It took Eirika far too long to remember. “Ah… the end of summer, I believe.” Had it really only been several months? It felt like an eternity. The few months weighed down on her aching shoulders like a thousand years.

“For the winter festival,” L’Arachel said suddenly, face lighting up. “I’ll teach you the basics for then. So that you may go about healing the scrapes and cuts of every child frolicking in the snow. As long as you’re dressed up appropriately, of course! We should plan you an outfit posthaste. Oh, and…”

Eirika listened to L’Arachel ramble further. The destruction of their world was kept away by one little stone, and yet, L’Arachel sat there and talked about the future, about all the things she had yet to experience, and about hope.

Hope was something that she had been lacking in, as of late.

Eirika smiled.

“I’d like that,” she said. “I’d like that very much.”


End file.
